


It Isn't Over

by camerasparring



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, F/M, First Kiss, John-centric, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-28
Updated: 2012-03-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 15:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/370586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camerasparring/pseuds/camerasparring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Settled in his new life with Mary, the last thing John Watson expects is a knock at his door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Isn't Over

John opens the door quietly, trying not to wake Mary. He smiles as he turns the knob, remembering the frazzled way her hair stuck to her forehead when she sat up in bed, bothered that someone would ring the bell at 10PM. In truth, they had gotten quite old quite quickly since settling into domestic bliss. John is pleased to be settled, even if he does, every few months, or days, or _minutes_ , miss the adrenaline rush of 221B Baker Street. But that’s nothing compared to what greets him at the door.

Sherlock’s hair is shorter but the same shade of black, which isn’t really a shade at all. He bites his lip when they lock eyes, and John wants to cry and scream and explode all in one go. He opts for complete silence instead. Sherlock’s eyes scan him and John can see the moment when it clicks: he’s married. Whether it’s the ring or the lines on his face or maybe even the shirt, it doesn’t really matter. Sherlock twitches his eyebrows.

“You’ve married,” he says, not a question, of course, because he knows. John isn’t sure whether he knew before he popped in or not, but it’s not something he’s sure he wants to know.

John nods. “You left. Had to move on somehow.” He shakes his head. That sounded bad. He _loves_ Mary. Really. “No, I… You died.”

“Clearly I didn’t, John,” Sherlock breathes, and John hears something twinge in his throat. He hates that he wants Sherlock to feel this, like he’s felt, knotted in his stomach for three years.

“Three years is a _bloody_ long time to play dead.” He can feel the tears at his eyes. He will _not_ cry. Sherlock doesn’t deserve it.

“It was sufficient. I needed time to make sure everything was safe. Moriarty spun an arduously wide web, but I can explain the details later. I need your help.” Sherlock leans forward, as if nothing has happened. As if John hadn’t spent months in therapy, months deciding to leave Baker Street, months dating around while still feeling empty inside and finally a year with Mary who made him feel not quite so empty but still not quite full, either. John laughs, no humor behind it, but it’s the only sound that will escape.

“I’m not… surely you don’t think I’m coming with you. I have a life. Here. Without you. You saw to that.”

“It was the only way to keep you safe,” Sherlock says quickly, almost interrupting, “to keep you _alive_.” John laughs again.

“Well, cheers, thanks for that, now I’m off…” John hears his heart pounding before Sherlock grabs his wrist, and now both of them feel it thumping steadily in protest.

“John,” he starts, gripping John tighter, “Please.” John can’t look him in the eye. He’s afraid he may give in, that he may run away, that he may let Sherlock wrap him up, take him home and keep him forever. He’s afraid that’s what he’s wanted all along.

“I can’t. Not now. I can’t,” John’s words lose their persistence when Sherlock moves his hand from John’s wrist to his neck. _Christ_ , John thinks, _this must be a dream_. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time he’d dreamt of Sherlock returning. Only a few had been this intense, and even fewer ended without Sherlock in his bed. Bed. Mary.

“ _Mary,_ ” John whispers, mostly to himself, as Sherlock inches closer, pressing their foreheads together.

“I need you,” Sherlock whispers in return, before capturing John’s mouth in a kiss. John kisses back, hard, biting at Sherlock’s bottom lip and drawing blood. Sherlock responds by backing him into the door and John groans.

John wraps his arms around Sherlock’s waist, violently pulling at his hips so they meet his own, and he can feel that Sherlock’s just as hard as he is. Sherlock flicks his tongue in John’s mouth, massaging at the nape of his neck and grinding their hips together again.

“ _Fuck,_ Sherlock,” John gasps, forcing a hand between their chests and moving the other man away. “Why _now_?” he asks, breathless and furious. They were flatmates for years. Seeing each other everyday, sleeping a room away. When Sherlock bothered to sleep, that is.

“I need you,” Sherlock repeats.

“I _needed_ you. I… I needed you, _then_ , Sherlock. I don’t need you now,” John feels his face redden. Thank god for the darkness. “I don’t _want_ you now.”

Sherlock takes a step back.

They study each other for a moment, John trying to calm down and convince himself of a lie. He _does_ want Sherlock. He just can’t. Not when everything’s gotten so… unsimple.

Sherlock leaves his porch in one spin, his coat making for a dramatic exit. John knows he’ll be back, but he waits until his silhouette has completely disappeared to let his legs give out.

Mary finds him there an hour later, dried tears, shaking hand and all.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Adele song "Someone Like You" because I'm a dork.


End file.
